


Afraid

by Asterrious



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dadhog, Don't have to read that to get it though I think, Hog is his protective dad, Junkrat is like seven, Takes place in Pariahpirate's ficworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8944447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asterrious/pseuds/Asterrious
Summary: Mako's an enforcer. Sometimes, there's just not a convenient daycare to drop your kid off at when shit goes down.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pariahpirate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pariahpirate/gifts).



> This is for the lovely pariahpirate! They've got quite the wonderful story going on- this is a little extension of that world, but you can read it alone and understand it, I think.
> 
> You definitely should check out their work though! http://archiveofourown.org/works/7597225

If there had still been playgrounds, bolted deep into the sands of the desert and filled with hot, metal structures for kids to play with, he had no doubt his son would be the king of the monkey bars. Hemi likes to climb him like a jungle gym when they leave the house, likes to wiggle into a perch on Mako’s shoulders and sit there, towering over everyone else they pass in the marketplace. Hog usually lets him- keeps him out of the way of the foot traffic, and makes sure his grabbing hands can’t dig through whatever pleases his fancy among the goods. His brat was given to wander, but it was difficult for the kid to do so when there was a hand grasping his ankles, both keeping him seated and reassuring his father that he hadn’t somehow vanished since the last time he’d checked.   
Hemi could teach a magician a thing or two about disappearing tricks.

There’s not so many people out on the road this late at night. Most of the junkers prefer to stay in whatever little area they could call home once the sun went down, leaving the town to the enforcers and the drunks. It’s Mako’s night off- self-enforced, since there wasn’t really anyone handing him a work schedule every week- but he couldn’t help but eye everyone stumbling down the street with suspicion and more than a little disgust. The fermented beer they managed to make out here tasted like piss and sour cactus juice. How anyone managed to drink even a sip, let alone enough to get drunk off the stuff, was beyond the man’s comprehension. Just the smell of it was enough to set his stomach turning.

Mindlessly, he tuned back in to the chatter in his ear, paying just enough attention so he could get the jist of what Hemi was talking about. He’d spent the day with Mako today, wandering the crowded market in the morning and reading books together at home until the late afternoon, but yesterday was passed at the Rat’s guild. He was only just getting through listing off the things he’d had the idea to build, thinking through the plans and ideas as he talked. Hemi wasn’t someone who could organize their thoughts in their own brain- he had to get it out, hear it be said, before he could start to conceptualize it and make sense of what he wanted. Mako didn’t mind being the springboard for his ideas. 

Loved it, in fact. Every time he heard his son talk about his creations, his toys and innovations, he felt pride swell in his chest. The little ‘roo’s ideas often strayed too close to the explosive for Mako’s liking, but that was fine. He’d probably grow out of that, once he grew up and realized that explosions weren’t just pretty lights and heat.

“Poaka.”

It was Roadhog’s turn to realize he’d strayed from his original thought process. Tiny hands in his hair, pulling at the strands sharply, brought him back to reality. With a grunt, he tilted his head slightly to try and get a look at the brat on his shoulder, shooting him a glare for ripping out some of his hair. But Hemi’s little face was unusually serious and he’d stopped talking away, eyes locked ahead of them. His heart began to drum in his chest and Mako took a step backwards on autopilot, wondering if he should leave the scene to play out or try to intervene. He had his son on his shoulders. Only a kid. But he was an enforcer of Junkertown, and no matter how much he liked to pretend, he never really got a minute off. There wasn’t time to relax.

In front of them, three junkers faced off against two others, weapons drawn and teeth bared in snarls that stank of liquor and cigarette smoke. The only light around came from a few nearby firepits, where small amount of roasting meat slowly cooked under the watchful eye of a guard. Mako would get no help from that man, he knew immediately- it was his job to guard against food theft, not stop a bunch of idiots from shooting each other full of holes in the street.  
Moving as quietly as he could despite his size, he reached up to pluck Hemi off his shoulder and set him on the ground. 

“Walk over to that man over there and sit behind him.” He muttered and the kid nodded tightly and half-walked, half-ran over to the fire pits. Even if the guy wouldn’t step in during a fight, it was a good bet he wouldn’t begrudge a kid trying to get out of the line of fire. Either way, he could be reasonably sure the drunks wouldn’t wander too close to them. 

By now they had noticed the massive presence standing near them, and five pairs of eyes turned on Mako. He recognized the faces assembled, from seeing them around Junkertown, but for the life of him couldn’t recall any of their names. Instead of calling out, he settled for slowly approaching, resting one huge hand on the hook he had tucked into his belt. It had become a habit to carry it around, even if he didn’t intend to use it. Intimidation was key. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked for Hemi and caught a peek of blonde hair poking out from behind the guard’s chair. 

Thank god he’d listened. He’d probably owe the guy one for letting his kid shelter with him, but that was fine.

“Evenin’ gentleman.” Mako called out to the five spread out before him, purposefully leaning all his weight into every step he took. The audible stomping sounds he made as he casually walked were enough to knock the sneers from a few faces, some of the drunks looking at their companions and then again at the enforcer. Maybe comparing their sizes.

The man standing in the center of the three-person group stepped forward to meet Mako. The smell of cigarette smoke intensified as they looked each other over. He had a haze of the stuff curled around his head, almost like a halo, and the ashes from the end of his cigarette were burning tiny holes into his shirt. He’s a Dog but that’s all that Mako knows about him. Never said two words to the guy before, but if he’s going to act like he’s the one in charge here, then he’ll get the pleasure of dealing with the enforcer.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” The man speaks first and there’s venom in his voice. He plucks the cigarette out of his mouth and spits a glob of snot at Mako’s feet. The enforcer has to fight the urge to punch him, instead schools himself into calm and lets the blank glass of the mask’s eyepieces answer the question. In the flickering firelight, he’s willing to bet he looks particularly ghoulish.

He wished fiercely that Hemi wasn’t watching this. He doesn’t want his son to think of him like this- a monster, huge and strong, which could demolish grown men with deft twists of his hands. Mako wants to snatch his son up and leave these idiots to their suicidal fun.

“Keeping you cunts from wasting ammo.” He says instead, and crosses his arms over his chest. Dares the man to take a shot at him. It wouldn’t be the first bullet he’d ever taken. Wouldn’t be the last.

“Go home. “ The words are growled out below the mask as the Dog clutches as his revolver, seemingly thinking through whether it was worth it or not to try and fight his way through an enforcer as well.

Lucky for him, he makes the right decision. The gun is holstered with a string of muttered insults. Mako doesn’t pay it any mind, knows it’s just the guy trying to save face in front of his buddies. As if there was anything to save. 

There’s the sound of a boot in the dirt from his other side.

He whirls, brings his fist crashing through the air, and connects with the guy try to sneak up on him. Mako feels something crunch beneath his fist and laughs loud and low before he can help himself, watching the body go sprawling in the dirt. Blood immediately begins to pour from what the enforcer can only assume is a very badly broken nose, and the man groans long and low. He raises his boot and plants it very slowly on the man’s back, letting the weight crush him into the dirt below. Mako lifts his head to make eye contact with the guy’s friend, a Viper who looked as though he’d been contemplating getting revenge for his buddy.

“Go. Home.” Each word is enunciated as clearly as possible. After a few seconds, he lifted the boot slightly and allowed the guy to crawl his way out from it. He clambered to his feet as fast as he could, shirt covered in dirt and stained red from Mako’s punch. The pair turn tail and disappear into the night, weaving their way through the back streets of Junkertown. 

He can practically feel Hemi’s eyes boring holes into him. He wants the boy to look away, look somewhere better suited for children. Somewhere where his father wasn’t blood-stained and dirty. 

The three dogs look caught, as though they can’t decide whether to try and fight, or if they should just cut their losses and run. The sources of their anger had already fled and Mako turns away from the three as well. He doesn’t think they’d be so brazen as to try and attack him here, while he’s expecting it. Dogs were tenacious, and sometimes vicious. But not stupid.

He glances in the direction of the guard’s station, hunting among the firepits for a glimpse of blonde hair and freckles. When he doesn’t find either, he panics.

“Hemi?” 

Mako calls the name in a booming voice, swinging his head wildly to try and find where his son has run off to. There are only so many places on a dirt road that a child could hide, only so many places to look before he has to conclude that his son had run off to a different street, a different place entirely.

Was he afraid of him?

A sickly feeling stabs through his body, makes him feel shaky. Hemi’s used to violence, but Mako had to tried to purposefully avoid it in front of him. He didn’t want the boy to have memories of his father bloodstained and laughing, didn’t want him to watch the sharp point of a meat hook rip through skin and tear away large portions of intestines and stomach. His son is too good for that, too innocent despite everything.

He should have just taken him home and left the five to their shootout. The guard wouldn’t have told on him, wouldn’t have blabbed to anyone that he didn’t do his job. Mako has to find his little ‘roo, apologize for scaring him. Assure him that his poaka would never hurt him, would rather tear himself limb from limb than let Hemi get hurt.

There’s a sickening thud behind him, and a choked cry of pain. He whirls, hand going for the hook on his belt, and sees the mouthy Dog lying in the dirt, his cigarette smoldering beside him. A sharp rock is a few feet away with one side stained red, to match the wound on one side of the guy’s head. From behind the group, he sees Hemi with another rock tucked in one small hand, and a strange sort of grimace that is trying hard to be a vicious snarl across his lips. 

“He was gonna shoot you!” Mako’s son cries, and he growls low in his throat before he can help himself. The guy’s buddies turn white when he unsheathes his hook and they leave their leader in the dust, fleeing as if the sharp point of the meat hook would rip through their flesh at any moment. They needn’t have worried- he’s got bigger fish to fry at the moment.

He presses two huge fingers to the guy’s throat and finds his pulse strong heavy. There was no kicking or squirming as Mako turned him over and he finds the guy’s taking a real good nap, courtesy of Hemi’s throwing arm. He looks up at the little ‘roo and finds him much closer than before, walking forward as if he’s going to help finish the Dog off, rock still held at the ready.

“At ease soldier.” He mutters to him and the boy purses his lips together as if he’s going to argue.

“He ain’t waking up for a while. You got a good arm.”

Just like that, Hemi’s all smiles. As if his father isn’t carefully looping chain links around the body of an unconscious, bleeding man. As if he hadn’t saved Mako from a bullet only minutes prior.

“When you turned around, he aimed and I was afraid he was gonna hit you, so I took one of the fire pit’s rocks and threw!”

“Did good.”

He fastens the man’s arms behind his back before covering them with more chain, making sure he’s thoroughly wrapped up tight. There was no court Mako could haul him to, no jury of his peers that would decide how long he’d spend in the slammer, but he can’t let this go unpunished. If people thought they could attack Roadhog and get away with it, he’d lose his power as an enforcer. Didn’t matter how big of a fucker you were if no one was scared of you.

As he worked, Mako focused on Hemi. The kid’s eyes were too bright, too wide. He hopped from foot to foot, watching his father wrap the guy in chain, for once silent. It was unnerving. A normal child would cry, knowing their father had been in such danger. Kids were supposed to be afraid in situations like these, weren’t they? Even as a baby, his son had been particularly fearless, but this was overboard.

“Hemi?” 

Those eyes snapped to him, and he was treated to a wide smile. At least that answered one question.

His boy wasn’t afraid of him. No matter how much he probably should have been.

Mako hauls the guy up on an old corner of a building, anchoring him to the roof with the house’s smoke pipe. He makes sure the Dog’s legs dangled a few feet off the ground, so that there was no chance of him getting himself free, before carefully wrangling his hook off the end of the chain and tucking it back into the holder on his side. In a flash, Hemi was climbing up his arm again, back to the familiar perch on Mako’s shoulder. He allowed himself a brief moment to revel in the warmth of the tiny body so close to him before he turned to the food guard. Guy hadn’t moved an inch throughout the whole ordeal, but he inclined his head to Mako when the enforcer told him he could take the chain he’d used to string the Dog up as payment for keeping his kid safe. Whenever he felt like getting the guy down, that was. He had more back home.

They’re finally heading back to their little space in Junkertown. He’s unexpectedly tired, even though the whole thing had lasted only five minutes, max. Hemi’s humming in his ear.


End file.
